


Bad Day at Work

by Romanumeternal



Series: Olia and Quintus [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, F/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:47:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanumeternal/pseuds/Romanumeternal
Summary: When you're a slave, venting about your job can be...difficult.
Series: Olia and Quintus [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115457
Kudos: 6





	Bad Day at Work

I slammed the door as swung it shut behind me, so hard the bang echoed around the flat. I didn't notice. Instead, feeling almost unbearably hot and sticky, fury and humiliation and misery coursing through my body, I yanked off my tunic, crumpling it into a ball, and chucking it into a corner, whilst resisting the urge to either punch the wall or break down in tears. 

Holding emotions in is exhausting, but a skill all slaves learn. That doesn't make it any easier. I gulped, feeling my heart still beating like a drum, wishing for a moment that that bald headed prick was trussed up atop a temple, and my hand holding the obsidian knife; that useless, flabbily obese incompetent who, if the world was at all just, would have starved to death long ago rather than rising like scum to the fucking top...

I glanced at the tunic, before deciding that right now it could stay where it fucking was. I needed an iced drink, a few minutes to calm myself down, and Quintus wasn't around to see his perfect slave girl topless, furious, on the verge of crying and gulping down iced water.

"Olia?" came a voice, from the study. My eyes widened.

Damn it. Quintus, as it transpired, was around to see his perfect slave girl topless, on the verge of crying, and about to gulp down iced water.

Romulus Above, just what I needed. 

"D-Dominus?" I said, hoping my voice was steady. Curious, rather than tearful, angry or -perhaps worse than either of those - the meek, begging whimper of a slave. I felt some tears in my eyes, and quickly dashed them away.

I won't cry in front of him was a vow I swore to the shade of my Mother, calling on the Hummingbird Reborn From the South to witness it - and its an oath I've kept. I will not be a sobbing, self pitying slave; snivelling in front of him like a child, hoping through womanly tears to earn his pity or indulgence. I might just be property, but there's one thing Rome can only take from you if you let Her, and that's your self-respect. 

Some times though, I come close to breaking that vow. 

"In here" he said, cheerfully enough. Obviously, then, my voice hadn't betrayed me. Nor, it seemed, had the door-slam. Thank all the Gods, Quintus' absorption had saved me from just one extra humifaction today. 

Well, after today, I figured I was owed something, at least. I half smiled, almost unwillingly. Normally, Quintus' happy ability to not notice - well, frankly more or less anything less than a small war when he's wrapped up in whatever it is he's doing - can drive me quietly insane. Whether its genuine, or whether he just prefers not to notice things that would complicate his life (the fact his sister is a cruel, vain, vindictive idiot with an inferiority complex, to take just one example) I do not know. 

(Somehow, I doubt if he was a slave that that particular personality trait would be quite as well developed. Sensing a small detail - expressions, changes in tone - can, for your average servile, make the difference between a pleasant and a very unpleasant day. Gods, if our positions were reversed, I doubt I'd be that tolerant of his ability to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else. Though I like that to think I'd limit myself to sarcastic remarks rather than, say, whippings). 

"Do you want a drink, dominus?" I asked. More, if I'm honest, because I wanted one - and because messing around with glasses, ice cubes and lemon water would give me some more moments to compose myself.

"That, dear, would be lovely." I smiled, again unwillingly. He seemed distracted once more.

I went into the kitchen, taking a few deep breaths. I opened the fridge door, basking for a moment in the relief of the cool air blowing against my bare skin, and then took out the large jug of water, pouring both Quintus and myself a glass, before taking a lemon and slicing it, lengthways.

It has to be said, cutting it into pieces helped relieve my feelings, somewhat, and I was somewhat more composed when I walked into the study with the tray.

Quintus was reclining, comfortably, on an old, battered reading couch; almost sinking into the cushions. I blinked; it was surprisingly dark inside. He'd drawn the blinds and the only real source of light, save for the sun seeping through the slats, was from his reading light. I shivered. It was also surprisingly cool. He'd set up a fan, right next to a large container of ice; and the air conditioning unit in the corner was whirring. But then, he's never liked the heat - not, of coursee, that I credit the malicious though oddly convincing rumour there's a streak of Volkish blood in the Callarius family. The warmer it gets, generally, the sicker and weaker he feels. 

(Why, then, he decided Alexandria was the place for him is a riddle fit for Minerva). 

He looked up, and frowned. I half-grinned; I could almost feel his eyes, initially at eye level, track down, over my bare breasts, down my underwear and linger on my legs - before snapping back to look me in the face. Well, as his brother Marius would say, he's a cripple, not an eunuch. 

"A bit hot, Olly?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

I nodded. There's a lot owners are happier not knowing, and I judged one of those things was that that I was overheated with anger, frustration and a too fast walk back through the baking Alexandrian streets, during which I'd nearly run into into several well dressed Roman citizens and, rather than apologise, simply brushed past them, blankly. One of them, I'd vaguely noted, had shouted after me and threatened to find my master; a threat I did not take at all seriously. 

"Yes dominus." I smiled as I placed the tray on a table and tried a grin. It felt strange on my face. "Don't worry, I was wearing clothes when at work."

Quintus grinned. "Probably a good idea." He gave me another appreciative glance. "I'd be fighting off interested buyers with a stick if you went outside like that." My smile widened at the compliment, backhanded though it was. 

He nodded at a chair. "Sit."

I sank into it, gratefully, feeling the aches and stiffness of the day slowly dissolve. I'd never have dreamt of sitting without his permission. It's one of those little things we have; a slight reminder that, whatever our feelings, I'm still his slave. It's a rare occasion when I sit before he gives me permission; permission of course which he'd never think of denying.

Sometimes, it rankles, but at other times, I'm obscurely pleased we still somewhat remember our respective places. It's all very well wanting to be treated as a free woman, but the fact is I'm property; and whilst the Romans tolerate indulgences towards a pretty slavegirl, a slavegirl acting as though she's free is quite another thing. And as his father might say, how a man acts in private will eventually be how he acts in public. 

And then, of course, we're into uncharted waters. I know as much as I know anything that Quintus genuinely loves me, but I also know that, in so many ways, he's a typical Roman - if not obsessed with status and reputation, at least very close too it. And whilst treating a slave publicly as though she's your wife is not the worst sin a Roman can commit in the eyes of his fellows, its not the least, either. 

"Thank you, dominus." I looked at Quintus. "I thought you'd be at the bank today."

He shrugged bony shoulders and smirked a self satisfied smirk that, for a moment, put me in mind of his sister Julia. Mind you, Quintus at least has reasons for his feelings of superiority, beyond his birth. 

"I work better from here, anyway. And since I got everything I needed to do done this morning, I thought I'd treat myself to an afternoon off."

Yes, Quintus would have made a very bad slave. Or, come to think of it, a very good one, assuming his owner wasn't the most observant and didn't keep the closest eye on him. I defy any servile reading this to swear on the Black Stone they've never made out that a task of much harder than it sounds in order to get some rest. (And I'm sure its not that uncommon for owners to turn a conveniently blind eye; so long as their duties are, in fact, performed.) 

"Very clever, Dominus" I said, sipping my water, enjoying the cold liquid, with the tang of lemon, enjoying sitting comfortably in a chair, pleasantly cooling.

"I am" said Quintus, flatly. He paused for a moment, and then said: "So I'm taking it you did not have such a relaxing day?"

I frowned. "What - what makes you say that, dominus?"

He sniffed. "The fact you slammed the door when you came in, the fact your voice was cracking when you answered, the fact you - you! - were so hot and annoyed about something you screwed up your tunic and threw it into a corner. I'm a cripple, not an idiot." His head twitched, for a moment, as if to mock me for assuming he wouldn't notice. 

I opened my mouth - and then closed it again, as cool blue eyes looked me over. His face was half tilted, his usual ironic smile on it - but in his eyes I thought I saw a glimmer of genuine concern. 

"It was...tense" I said, slowly. Quintus just snorted, and then I nodded; and then I just couldn't hold it in any more. I took a banana from a bowl. 

"Flayed Gods and Feathered Serpents, yes. That office, dominus, is full of idiots. Imbeciles." I ripped the skin off the banana viciously, as if I was a priest from my homeland peeling the skin off a sacrifice to Our Flayed Lord - and you better believe I had a couple of people in mind to offer to Xipe Totec. "And guess who gets blamed when some utter fuckwit - excuse my Volkish, dominus - forgets to send an invoice in? The fucking slaves, that's who!" 

Quintus looked rather taken aback - he wasn't used to slaves complaining; most don't dare and I prefer not too. After all, if I complained to him he'd feel something had to be done about it - and then he could quite easily end up standing up for a slave against a citizen.

Which is, of course, to any Roman of dignity, unthinkable.

He blinked. "That bad, huh?". Probably, a cynical part of my mind wondered, hoping that it actually was not that bad. 

I sighed. I had been yelled at, humiliated in front of a dozen free citizens, not to mention slaves, and forced to apologise to the useless slob who'd made the mistake in the first place, for even suggesting one might be able to contemplate possibly speculating drawing a correlation between his (lack of) actions, and a customer on the phone threatening lawsuits, loss of business, and possibly mass castrations performed with the aid of some rusty shears. (Not that I entirely blamed him). 

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" said Quintus, sharply. I looked at him, wondering for a moment if there was some mark on my face. I resisted the urge to touch my skin, feeling somewhat grateful for its coloration. Had I been fairer, I knew, there would have been no hiding the manager's displeasure.   
  
"They didn't beat me, dominus" I said. I wasn't, I guess, technically a lie, and slaves generally learn to lie well early. "As for the rest..." I shrugged. "People say stuff to slaves they would never dare to another citizen." I took a bite of banana. "And I'm used to that."

I looked at Quintus. He swallowed the lie; and I wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved that he had done, or guilty that I'd lied. It probably didn't cross his mind that I might lie about it - or, if not lie, at least stretch the truth to beyond breaking point, and give an answer that was technically correct but utterly misleading. 

Quintus nodded. "Good. Because if they'd hurt you..." he tailed off, and then looked at me. "And you realise you don't have to work there. It isn't as if I need the money."

I smiled. Like most domestics, I was hired out (for a pittance) to a local business, bringing in a few coins that, I supposed, might just about cover the cost of feeding the average slave. Unlike most domestics, I had a say in it, kept nine tenths of the money - and had an owner who, I knew, would not be amused if he ever found out that the manager today had given me a good box around the ears, followed by a couple of slaps for good measure. By contrast, most owners would probably be simply angry that a slave had embarrassed them in front of another citizen; or perhaps the resultant loss of income had the manager decided that their services were no longer required.

In that respect, at least, I'm lucky. How many slaves have an owner who actually cares how happy they are at work?

"I'd get bored, otherwise, dominus" I said. Quintus cocked his head.

"And you don't want me to say anything?" he asked, his face giving nothing away, freezing into that impassive, cold mask. 

For a moment, I was tempted to ask him to, but then sense intervened. Men of dignitas do not generally complain because their slaves are insulted, or even if they are roughly handled, unless it is done as a direct insult to them - and Quintus, whatever else he might be, definitely thinks of himself as a man of traditional Roman dignity. I had no intention of making him choose between my temporarily injured feelings and something so important to him.

Hence the twisting of the truth. I had no intention of forcing that particular issue. Quintus, like myself, has I think mostly accepted that he sometimes has to be colder to me than either of us would like, sometimes has to treat me more like the slave I am than his lover. Had I mentioned the slaps, however, I thought, (and part of me hoped) he'd react like any other man when his lover is hurt - and not like an owner who's slave was slapped around a little. If he was enraged enough to do something about it, he'd lose his dignity, and if he wasn't...

Well, if he wasn't, I'd be unpleasantly surprised, and set to wondering if he really did see me as anything more than a slave. 

"No, dominus. I'm lucky. I get to come home and vent to my owner." I polished off the banana. "Who even sometimes listens." I chucked the skin in the bin. 

He smiled, and stretched out on the chair. "I try. Oh, I figured you'd be tired, so I ordered a take-out." He caught a sudden glint in my eye, and hastily added "don't worry. It's from that vegetarian place, you know. The one which goes on about healthy bodies, healthy minds, and the joys of eating nuts."

"Romulus Above, Dominus, are you alright?" I teased. "Ordering from Folium Vobis?"

He smirked. "I'm full of surprises. And it sounds like you need a treat anyhow."

I shrugged, and sighed. "It's nothing, dominus." I looked at him, intently, my brown eyes wide, honest. "Honestly, it's nothing."

**Author's Note:**

> Hummingbird Reborn From the South: A rough Latin approximation of the meaning of the name of the God Huitzilopochtli, an originally Aztec deity worshipped throughout the Holy Empire of Atzlan. Sometimes roughly linked to Sol Invictus, Mars or Romulus, Huitzilopochtli is worshipped as the Sun-God, as well as the patron deity of Atzlan. Over ten thousand people are sacrificed to Him every year. 
> 
> Our Flayed Lord: Rough Latin approximation of the meaning of the name of the God Xipe Totec; an originally Aztec deity worshipped throughout the Holy Empire of Atzlan. Sometimes roughly linked to Ceres or Mars, Xipe Totec is one of the most commonly worshipped Gods. Sacrifices to him are renowned for their cruelty, and frequently include flaying, burning or other tortures. 


End file.
